


Other Kinds of Treasure

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Engagement Rings, F/M, Modern, Poldark AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: In the days before Christmas, Ross Poldark frets over to the perfect present for his girlfriend, Demelza. And she begins to wonder about their future together. But overheard secrets and unwanted house guests threaten to upset their domestic harmony.A sequel to Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heaven-- a modern Poldark AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a sequel to Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heaven, another modern Poldark AU still in progress. But I believe this could be read separately as a stand alone story. That said, if you are at all concerned about spoilers, you are warned not to read on. I apologize for not working sequentially but couldn't resist this one.

Ross Poldark woke to the familiar sound of wind whistling outside the misty bedroom window and rain drumming the roof. A bleak grey dawn light snuck into the room, reminding him that another cold winter day was beginning outside. So far it had only rained this December--a bitter freezing rain, that added a glistening layer of despair to the muddy countryside.  

_If it would only snow, everything would be brightened a bit,_ he thought. Then he laughed. Demelza’s influence on him was evident. She always looked for the simple beauty in nature and never let bad weather cloud her hopes.

There was no denying that since he had let love back into his life, Ross Poldark was a far less gloomy man; even he acknowledged this. But some days, the grey skies and the grey mud of Cornwall winters were enough to get anyone down. Today he’d have to work harder to keep the clouds from entering their house.

Ross looked over at the woman sleeping beside him--Demelza, his girlfriend of eighteen months who’d been living in his home with him for most of that time. Girlfriend wasn’t the right term--it didn't convey the depth and permanence of their relationship. She was his partner, his match. His love and his life.

Her head had edged onto his pillow, her soft red hair spread out around her. He was aware of how just much heat surged through his body where only her fingertips touched his shoulder. She was wearing thick woolen socks and one of his long sleeved t shirts that was just a bit too big on her so her hands, like a small child’s, were lost in the dangling sleeves. Ross was bare except for his boxer briefs, so together they made one fully clothed person.

His heart swelled as he kissed her head, hoping she wouldn’t wake. He needed a moment alone, before the bustle of the day began, to strategise how he might begin to solve the problems weighing heavy on him.

And she--his companion and lover--was at the root of at least two of his greatest problems.

\--

His first and most time sensitive challenge was to find Demelza a Christmas gift. One that she would appreciate and cherish, one that reflected his love for her, one that showed he that _knew_ her. Last year--their first Christmas together--his selection for her had been an utter failure.

It wasn’t that he didn't put in the thought--nor the money--but that he had just been so far off the mark. And he hadn’t listened to her. They had agreed to keep it simple, or that is what she had requested anyway.

Ross had agonised a bit then resorted to asking Caroline, Demelza’s best friend for advice. Looking back, he now saw he would have been better off asking Prudie, their housekeeper, who knew Demelza in and out.  And it wasn’t that Caroline didn't know Demelza--they were quite close in fact--but that she had different expectations and taste. Caroline had led Ross towards a gift that would have been what _she_ would have wanted. They both should have seen it didn't really suit their Demelza but Ross had found out the hard way.

In the days just before Christmas that first year together, Demelza had been away at a biodiversity conference in Dublin. Ross had been surprised at how eager he was for her return and decided on a whim to leave work early to meet her at the airport, even though she had told him she’d get a taxi.

_Just landed. Home soon,_ she texted him.

_Waiting for you in arrivals,_ he proudly replied.

Standing taller than anyone around him, Ross shifted anxiously waiting for her to emerge. He was wearing a sharp camel dress coat but his curly hair was tousled, his dark beard as unruly as ever--her brief absence had taken a visible toll on him. When he noticed her walk through the sliding door, a big grin spread on his face.

“You weren’t supposed to pick me up,” Demelza said with a smile, as she pressed herself into his embrace.

“Demelza,” he sighed. “Good god, I missed you so much,” he said, his voice low and serious. He kissed her, then held her close again.

“I missed you, too, Ross,” she said softly and reached up to kiss him again. “This looks new. A present from someone?” she asked, stroking his coat.

“Caroline helped me pick it out. I needed something presentable for meetings with investors and shareholders.”

“I go away for three days and she’s taken to shopping for my boyfriend?” she teased. “Well I supposed I was off with her fiance, so it’s fair game.”

“Did you two enjoy yourselves?“ Ross asked her. There was no jealousy or suspicion in his voice. It had been a business trip and Ross had the utmost faith in both Demelza and Dwight, who was her business partner and one of their closest friends.

“Oh Ross, the conference was brilliant. I’m so excited about the contacts I made for my new project! But Dwight...well, he was hopelessly missing Caroline. And I suppose I was...hopelessly missing you too, Ross. So we were certainly a pair! But look at you, Ross. You look like quite the dashing gentleman whereas I…” she laughed referring to her parka, jeans, and hiking boots--her standard traveling attire.

“You are beautiful as always.”

“Come on, let’s go,” she said and allowed him to take her bag even though she was more than capable of carrying it herself. Earlier in their relationship she would put up more resistance but had since come to accept that these small gestures of affection meant a lot to Ross.

“It’s a Thursday afternoon, Ross. Don’t you have to be at work?” she asked.

“No, I do not. I have more important things to attend to,” he said.

“Oh yeah? And how’s work been, my love?” she asked as they walked to the carpark. She was giving him permission to vent his frustrations about Grace Quarry and the inevitable complications that came from local politics.

“It hasn't been bad actually. And I expect duties will remain light until mid January.” Usually it took only the smallest prompt from her to get him spilling about work, but not this time. He remained relaxed, content. He was just happy to be with her again.

“That sounds like good news for you,” she said.

“Good news for _us_. That means no late nights over the next few weeks so we can have loads of dinners out...or in,” he added with an arched brow.

“I’m so glad to be home. This is home,” she said.

“The carpark?”

“No, I mean being with you. Your arms,” she said and wrapped her arms around him again, almost tripping them both with her enthusiasm. He stopped and kissed her forehead.

“Let’s never spend the holidays apart again, ok?” he said.

“It’s not even Christmas Eve yet, Ross...but deal.”

“That reminds me. Is it settled we’ll have Christmas Eve alone at Namara but see Verity and Aunt Agatha on Christmas Day? They’ll be alone at Trenwith this year.”

“Yes, that's fine, Ross. My brothers are still out at sea but someday you’ll actually meet them, I suppose. We also still need to decide what we are doing for New Years-- Caroline’s party, or your work do?” she reminded him.

“Or Jinny’s party with her new bloke or stay home and just be together.”

“You know I always enjoy staying at home with you but I think we’d better go out, Ross, since we seem to be in such high demand.”

“I say we do Caroline’s,” he replied.

“Why?”

“She’s your mate, I like to see you have fun.”

“You’re just trying to please me,” she said with a laugh.

“Is that so wrong?”

“What about your work party? Is it not expected you should go? I mean is it an important, you know, unspoken requirement, for _you_ , the boss to be there?” she asked, as she settled into the passenger seat.

“They might actually have more fun without me there so let's make this clear, if I went it would only be to show off my hot, young girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Who is she and when do I meet her?”

“Don’t tease. You know how I feel about you, Demelza.” He leaned over and kissed her again then suddenly grew distracted, almost impatient. “I need the exit ticket out of the glove box. Will you reach in for me?” he asked absently.

Demelza opened the glove box and put her hand on something--a present set there deliberately for her to find. By the long slender shape one could tell it was some sort of jewelry, by the wrapping one could tell it was expensive.

“Merry Christmas, Demelza,” he said softly.

“Ross, I thought... I thought we agreed to keep things simple,” she stammered.  

“We did. I’m _simply_ giving this to you. I didn't want to wait.” He turned the key in the ignition while she sat dumbfounded, holding the box in her palm. “Open it,” he commanded.

She gingerly unfolded the paper then plucked the blue velvet box open to reveal an elegant gold watch.

Ross had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, expecting to see happiness or surprise from her--and had not anticipated tears. And he could tell at once by the way her chest rose and fell suddenly, followed by a full body shudder, that she was not in fact overcome with joy nor touched by tenderness. These were tears of hurt and disappointment.

This terrified him; he’d so rarely seen her openly cry like _that_ \--in distress.

“Oh god, Demelza” he said, switching off the engine and reaching for her. “Oh babe, what is it? What did I do?” he asked desperately.

She looked up with her own bleary eyes and when she met his--dark with worry and growing wet too--she openly sobbed. He could feel it came from somewhere deep; he knew her well enough to read her. Now she felt guilty and maybe ashamed for having responded so ungraciously to his gesture.  

“Oh Ross, I’m so sorry. I wish I could explain,” she started. She tried not to wipe her nose on his shoulder and pulled away from his new coat ever so slightly.

“No, I get it, Demelza. I think I do,” he said solemnly. “We promised each other not to go overboard. It meant something to you and I disregarded that.” Yes, she must have thought they moved past a place where any incongruence in their wealth and age mattered, that they had forged their own way of being together based on happiness and love. And this gift had reminded her of every insecurity she still had.

“Oh but Ross! I shouldn't have reacted the way I did just now,” she said. “Without even saying thank you? Oh Ross!” She tried to sniffle but it ended up a most inelegant snort.

“No...you were honest just now. That’s what I love about you,” he said taking her face gently in his hands and looking her in the eye. “And I never want to disappoint you again,” he murmured, rubbing his lips on her forehead. "Please, Demelza, be happy.”

_She thinks I don’t understand her. But maybe... can she see that I want to? Or that I do but I just failed this time? I need to trust myself more. And I need to trust her the way she trusts me._

“Of course I’m happy. I’m home, with you, Ross. You know that I love you, don’t you? I’m so sorry if I hurt your feelings…”

“Demelza, yes, I know,” he said. He may have been soothing her now but he was still rattled to the core.

When he got her home they went straight to the bedroom where they tried their best to work through so many complex emotions. The anguish of having been apart, the joy of being reunited, the disappointment, for both of them, at how his present had been received--and the terror at how vulnerable they still could feel around one another.

Yes, everything had been wrong with that choice of a gift, Ross could see that now. She’d needed a watch--her old one had gone missing months before--but a waterproof field watch or a sundial for the garden would have been more fitting for her. Even just a damned handwritten card would have made her happier.

Later, when she had shared the present she had chosen for him--a volume of Eamon Grennan poems inscribed by the poet himself--Ross felt even worse. She’d of course nailed it. The gift was simple, but oh so very meaningful. She knew he liked Irish poets, she knew  _him_. He vowed never to make such a mistake again. He had to do better this year.

For her birthday in March, he avoiding choosing any one thing and instead took her to Prague to see the ballet, which she adored. But unfortunately he couldn’t take much time from work at the moment. If he could, he’d just take her to Fiji or Paris or even St. Ives, and forget this whole predicament.

Maybe he was overthinking this. Of course knowing Demelza as he thought he did, she’d like anything he gave her. She wasn’t spoiled or fussy. She was a kind woman, and expressed her gratitude daily for the little things--the smell of freshly picked violets, the gentle glow of lit candles in their bedroom, a walk along the misty sea cliffs with their dog. That was what he had found so confusing--perhaps as someone who had been so discontent for most of his life, he just couldn’t always understand someone who seemed more genuinely happy.

Yes, he was overthinking. After all, it had been Ross’s disregard for their agreement, not the actual watch, that had upset Demelza last Christmas. Once she had stopped crying, she did tell him how lovely she found it. And when she first wore the watch--at Ross’s work do for New Years that they attended briefly before they went to Caroline’s elegant party at Killewarren the same evening--he thought he caught her fingering it. Had she been silently appreciating it? Maybe it was the engraving on the inside that had salvaged it: ‘ _To my Demelza--_ _You are my sun and stars, my night, my day..._ _All my love--Ross’._

His sun and stars...and this led to his second problem. Over the past few months, Ross had grown more and more convinced that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Demelza. He wanted to make it as permanent in the eyes of the law, as he felt it to be in his heart. But he was quite unsure of how to broach the subject with her.

What if she scoffed at the idea of such an outdated convention? Was she content to keep things as they were? Or if he came out and proposed--that is, if he made her an offer of marriage--would she resent such an arrogant approach that he, as an established male property owner, was asking her to subjugate herself to him?

He just couldn’t predict her reaction. She was such an enigmatic combination of free-spirited whimsy and rule abiding discipline, that sometimes she caught him off guard. Ross didn't always know if in any given situation he would be met with the purely rational Demelza or the sentimental one. For instance when the old cat died, Ross thought for sure Demelza would fall to pieces. After all she had such a soft spot for animals and had grown so attached to it since she had come to live at Nampara. But Demelza seemed to just take its death in stride and spoke somewhat dispassionately about the “circle of life”. And it had been Demelza herself, without a single tear or any fuss, that had grabbed up a spade and buried the poor cat.

But he’d also seen her weep like a faucet at the cinema regardless of the film. And he knew he could always get her choked up by playing any Chet Baker album--her eyes would glisten with tears and she’d ask if he recalled the first time they had ever danced together--as if he could ever forget.

Ross liked that she was at times unpredictable and had come to rely on both her practical and her mushy tendencies alike. She was a complement to his own occasional impulsivity and also to the bitter despair that seemed to run in the Poldark blood.

But what if he had misread her these many months? What if she had no desire for a future with Ross and had just been living in the moment? What if her freedom meant more to her than a life together? And what if he broached the subject only to find by forcing her to articulate her feelings, he had shattered their fragile world together?

Perhaps it was better--safer--to say nothing. Yet he was finding it harder and harder to ignore his own feelings, and as much as he tried to push these thoughts to the side, he knew himself well enough to know he would soon be compelled to act on them.

\--

Demelza opened one eye without stirring.

“Mmm…What's the matter Ross? Why are you staring at me?”

“I was just watching you--you looked so peaceful,” he smiled weakly.

“Hmm, I confess I didn’t sleep so well. The moon was so bright it lit up the whole room. Didn't you see it? And it wasn't even a full moon just a half moon, so I know I should be grateful for that,” she said, still drowsy but slowly rousing.

“You should have pulled the curtain.”

“Somehow it seems bad manners to shut out the moonlight when it’s that dazzling. Like if the night is going to conjure up something so rare and magical, who are we to turn our backs on it?”

“Well stay in bed as long as you’d like, sleepyhead. Or do you want me to bring you some coffee?” He made a move to get up even though he wasn’t particularly inspired to face the day.

“No, Ross, lie with me, just a bit longer?” she said softly and moved closer to him, pressing her feet against his legs. He leaned down and kissed her lips.

“I’m cold,” she shuddered.

“Then you should put something on to cover your bare bum,” he laughed.

“I can think of something I’d like on my bare bum,” she said and pulled him towards her, placing his hands on her backside. He heeded her command and grabbed a great handful of her flesh. But this was not to be an amorous romp for she was laughing so hard now the bed was shaking. He patted her with a gentle but audible spank.

“Did you know it will be a full moon just before Christmas this year?” she asked.

“Then we’ll be sure to keep you indoors and out of trouble.”

“Seriously, Ross, if anyone in this house is likely to be a werewolf…” she began.

“Me?”

“Well you’re certainly hairier than I am. Tell me, is that what keeps you so warm?” she teased and buried her face into his chest.

“I’m glad you stole my socks so you didn't put your cold feet on me in the night,” he said.

“You don't mind?” she asked, rubbing her big toe along his calf. Her foot was encased in a thick red sock that someone had handknit ages ago.

“No, I don’t and if you are interested, there are probably more like those in that dresser. I confess I haven’t been through it in ages but I think there are loads of itchy old woolens if that suits you.”

“I was thinking Ross,” she said tentatively.

“Yes?” he encouraged.

“Well, only that I might do some rearranging and sorting? Of that dresser and maybe the sideboard in the dining room?”

“Of course, this is your home too. And if you have a sudden urge to tidy, don’t let me get in your way,” he teased. Most days any disarray in their room was her doing.  

“I know I don’t have to ask, it’s only that sometimes I…”

“Do you not feel this is your home?” he asked solemnly.

“No, I do--more so than anywhere I’ve ever lived. Only it's _more_ yours, and that's to be expected I know. But it's also...your family’s and I, well, I don’t know where I…”

“I think I know how you might feel. There are still some corners--the library especially--where I feel I’m intruding on my father's space. But I shall endeavour to make you feel otherwise, my love. We haven’t had the builders in yet to redo the library as I promised you when you moved in last year, perhaps we should do that straightaway and we’ll both feel it is a space we have built together.”

“No, Ross--we’ve built lots of spaces together,” she said and folded one of his hands on her heart, then kissed the other one tenderly.

For a moment Ross felt ashamed again. Here he was trying to solve a problem with money, to give her a _thing_ and evade the real issue. She had been asking where she fit in his family. It would have been the perfect opening to talk about their future, if he’d only seized on it. Was it too late?

“Besides,” she continued. “I like the library as jumbled as it is. It has character. Let me just start by rearranging the drawers a bit.” And with that she leapt out of bed and stretched her long limbs, ready to face the day.


	2. Chapter 2

That December Demelza found she had a few problems of her own and she was determined to solve at least one of them with bothering Ross, even though it involved his house.  

The trouble really began at the end of November when the old Poldark cat had died. Demelza had seen it coming; poor old Tabitha Bethia had grown so thin and frail by then; she felt bird-light, hollow-boned, not much like a cat at all. She didn't move around much and spent her days lying on the floor in the kitchen--usually in the path between the cooker and the sink so they’d need to walk around her-- or sitting on the window sill watching birds. In years previous, she had prowled the yard but now she never left the house.

Feeling sorry for the old thing, Demelza used to bring her bits of the outdoors--long strands of seagrass and feathers to bat at and even once made her a ring of wild flowers to wear around her neck. Tabitha Bethia was very tolerant of her new mistress’s whims and would play for a few minutes before she’d curl up in Demelza’s lap.

And when the old cat’s time came, Demelza, who hadn’t been surprised in the least, didn't shed a tear but, one last time, stroked the wispy, disheveled coat that felt more like feathers than fur. She thanked her for years of service to Nampara and chose a spot in the shade near an old wall that the cat had liked when she had had more verve. Demelza thought it was a quiet and proper burial for a faithful, but tired friend.

But what did surprise Demelza was that, even in the cat’s final sloth like days, she’d apparently still been adept at keeping the Nampara mice at bay. For it wasn’t long after the old thing died that the first signs of mice could found in the house.

“Fucking hell!” Demelza muttered, as she saw the unwelcome droppings in the silverware drawer. She shuddered in disgust, then grabbed up all the forks and knives to run through the dishwasher.

“What is it? What’s amiss?” Prudie came hustling in after hearing her curse. Demelza tried hard not to curse in front of Prudie and immediately went red with shame.

“Look Prudie, I believe we have some visitors,” Demelza pointed to the drawer.

“Yeah, saw that too. In the cupboard. They been nibbling at the sack of flour. Made quite a mess.”

“Well, we shouldn't be surprised to have them in an old farmhouse like this but we should be surprised we haven’t had them before,” Demelza sighed.

“Guess we’ll have to be tidier and lay a few traps,” Prudie suggested.

“Oh I hate the traps,” Demelza lamented. “I know the sprung ones are quickest but they are so traumatic and gruesome. And the glue traps are just a cruel slow death.”

“Poison?”

“That’s horrid too. Then they crawl off to die under the floorboards or sofa cushions and you only realise it once you smell it. And nothing smells worse than a dead mouse. How did Tabitha Bethia manage to keep them away when she never even moved?”

“Dunno. I’ll ask Mister Ross to pick up some traps for us then,” Prudie said.

“Oh don’t. Not yet. I’ll think of something and I don't want to bother Ross with this,” Demelza said.

This was true. Ross had seemed a bit distracted and troubled lately, but she didn't know why. And this was where Demelza’s other problem came in.

Since she’d moved in the previous year she had been so content and comfortable living with Ross at Nampara. Occasionally she would travel for work, and always found she was relieved when she walked back through the door and into Ross’s arms. She now preferred to be home and that was a drastic change for someone who had moved about and sought adventure much of her adult life.

Of course her relationship with Ross had grown since they lived together. At night, their passion had deepened in its intensity but during the day, they found they were easy companions. They never rowed about changing loo rolls--he didn't-- or leaving socks on the floor--she did--but day to day just got on well.  

But now she’d occasionally find herself thinking about the future, wondering what it would mean for the two of them. Would things just continue as they were or would she and Ross make other plans together?

This was all new to her. For years she had lived in the moment and not fretted about next moves. Any plans she had made had been her own--to carry out, to mess up, to abandon at her will. This would be different; it already was. She was no longer alone. Demelza considered mentioning this to Ross but wasn’t quite sure how to put these feelings into words. And she sometimes wondered what Ross thought about her presence in his life and home.

She knew he loved her--she had no doubt on that score--but the last few days he’d suddenly seemed moodier--not as dark as when she had first met him. Still, she saw the shadows of distress in his eyes from time to time. She thought it might have been brought on by work stress or the grey winter skies, but more and more she thought it happened when he looked  _ at _ her. As though she were the cause of his troubles.

She didn't think she had done anything to displease him but if she had, would he tell her? Was the peace in their home merely a facade as he held in any grievances? She’d need to encourage him to open up. But how?


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh Ross, were these yours?” Demelza asked, holding up a pair of striped woolen mittens she found in the bedroom dresser.

“Yes I suppose they were. I hadn’t realised they’d been saved,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and toweling off his wet head. He was bare under his dressing gown so he felt the chill of the drafty room more acutely that morning.

“Ross, these drawers and the chests in the library are quite a jumble. Everything seems to have been saved. Your father was either unbelievably sentimental or a first rate pack rat.”

“He did keep everything but not to remember the past. It was the opposite I believe. He couldn’t face it”  

_A way to avoid making decisions._

“Ross, they’re so tiny and absolutely darling,” she said, stroking the mittens lovingly. “Was it your mum that knit them?”

“No, I don’t think so. I suppose it must have been some relative from Trenwith,” he replied.

“Aunt Agatha?”

“Are you mad? We’d never arm her with knitting needles,” he laughed. “No, it would have been my Aunt Verity, Verity’s mother.”

“Well they’ll be perfect for Verity’s blog. She and Caroline are looking for simple family heirlooms to feature this month--you know homemade treasures, family recipes, and such,” she explained.

“Meticulously styled, _faux_ simple? You mean the sort of things rich people can look at warmly and for a moment feel less guilty about spending their money so recklessly?” he asked cynically.

Demelza ignored this.

“Was your head ever really this so small?” she laughed, holding up a child’s knit cap.

“Are you saying my head is too big now?”

“Only sometimes. No, it’s all just hair, isn’t it?” she said and dug her fingers into his wet curls.  She loved to playfully tug at his head and gave a low growl as she pulled him towards her for a deep kiss.

“Will your babies be this hairy?” she laughed again, then buried her nose in his beard and took in a long emphatic inhale.

Ross was glad her eyes were closed so she wouldn’t be able to read his expression lest it betray his thoughts. He was puzzled but pleased by this last statement. It wasn’t the first time in their many months together she had casually mentioned future children. Of course just now she had said ‘ _your’_ babies, not ‘ _our’_ babies but still it was definitely an opening.

But since her fingers were busy peeling back his dressing gown to expose his bare body, he saw this was not going to be an opportunity for tender talk. She was already removing her own top and moved to press her bare skin to his.

Maybe afterwards, after they had made love and he held her close in his arms, he could ask her what she thought about children--hair aside-- since she’d already introduced the topic. And that might naturally lead to a conversation about marriage.

_Damnit!_ Just then he remembered two investors from Calais were coming in person for a meeting at Grace Quarry today and he would need to be on time for it. It wouldn’t do to keep them waiting--nor would it be right to cut short such an important conversation with Demelza once he’d started it. No, this morning they’d have time to seek some quick pleasure with each other but the meaningful talk about the future of their relationship would have to wait.

“Ross? Do you want me to continue or is something on your mind?” Demelza breathed softly in his ear, as she settled her legs on either side of him.

“It is only you that is on my mind, my love,” he rasped. “Please don’t stop,” and spread his broad hands across her back, gripping her tightly to him.

\---

Ross was driving to work at Grace Quarry when the idea hit him. Demelza loved the old stuff she discovered around Nampara and had shown such a fondness for things that had belonged to his mother in particular. He needed to give her an heirloom of some sort. In that dresser she had been clearing out were some of Grace Poldark’s more cherished possessions: a black beaded handbag, an ivory comb--and if he was correct--an antique ring that had been a favourite of hers. Any of those would make a suitable Christmas present for Demelza.

The comb and the handbag together wouldn’t be practical but would be well received. He doubted, however, that they had much meaning for his mother. The ring, he knew had. Yes, it had to be the ring.

But would giving a ring be interpreted as something more? Well, that was what he wanted after all--something more-- but not why he wanted Demelza to have that ring. Besides, it wasn't an engagement ring.  

Was it?

When Ross got home later that evening, he was pleased to have a moment alone in the bedroom while Demelza finished making supper. Sure enough, he found the small battered leather box in the very back of the top drawer behind more of those thick socks Demelza had taken to wearing to bed.

The box opened with a creak--its hinges had grown rusty over the years-- and inside the elegant ring was nestled amongst faded folds of gold silk. The main setting was a square cut gem--an aquamarine so pale it looked like starlight. When Ross held it up, he saw it had several small diamonds set into the gold band on either side of the light blue stone. He’d never noticed those before. They served to make the ring seem even more delicate and ethereal. He also noticed, though, that one of the prongs on the main setting was loose. He’d need to get that repaired--would there be enough time before Christmas?  

\---

“Yes indeed, indeed, Mister Poldark. We can have it ready in time for Christmas,” the stooped grey haired man reassured him. Ross had managed to slip the ring out the house unnoticed and had taken it to Pennington’s, an established shop in Truro that specialised in antique jewelry. He sensed at once he was in good hands.

“Thank goodness,” Ross sighed.

“Ah, I remember this ring, it was your mother’s. Oh, how she did love it! I’m sorry if the repairs I made all those years ago for her haven’t lasted,” he clucked, while taking out his loupe to better examine the ring. “No, no, this one is the prong I repaired. Glad to see my work has stood the test of time. You see, Mr. Poldark this ring was old when she brought it to repair.”

“Oh how old?”

“Not as old as some Poldark jewelry mind you. But from the 1920s, at least. Fine art deco design. And this emerald cut aquamarine is magnificent, no?”

“Emerald? I thought it was an aquamarine?” Ross asked, confused.

“Oh it is--it is called an emerald cut regardless of the stone. You know the story of this ring, don’t you?” Mr. Pennington’s eye sparked with life as looked at the ring.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t…”

“Well, it is believed to have belonged to an emigree--Russian, I believe. Yes, the dates would fit, wouldn’t they? She’d been an aristocrat of some sort but left during the revolution and took nothing but a few odd diamonds she’d sewn into the hem of her skirts. Impoverished, but determined and spirited, she took work as a housemaid in one of the fine old manors here in Cornwall--can’t recall which though. That’s where the story gets a bit cloudy. Some say she used witchcraft to seduce the master of the house, others say it was just her own charms and beauty that did it. And despite her supposed low station, he married her, even though it was scandalous-- in those days it still would have been to marry your maid, you see. But he adored her and she had lots of jewels from that time on, yet this was the favourite. Because these diamonds you see…”

“Were the diamonds she had sewn into her skirt?” Ross offered.

“The very ones.”

_How the hell had it come into my family’s possession?_ Ross hoped his father hadn’t won it in a disreputable card game or been given it by an illicit lover. Then he remembered it wouldn’t have had the same meaning to Grace if it had an unseemly provenance.

“Mister Pennington, may I ask, would a gem this colour suit a woman with red hair?” Ross asked suddenly.

_With brilliant, shining red hair_ , he thought to himself.

Ross didn't often think in those terms, but he had heard Demelza speak with Caroline at times about what colours worked well with her hair and skin tone. At Dwight and Caroline’s wedding, Demelza had managed to look stunning in a green silk gown--worn at Caroline's behest--without looking like a leprechaun, so Ross imagined there must be some skill involved.

“Dr. Carne, you mean?” the jeweler asked with a smile. “I’m sorry I just presumed…I saw you two together at Caroline Penvenen’s wedding.”

Ross nodded that he had been right and felt a smile forming on his own face at Mr. Pennington’s observation. At the Enys’s wedding the previous June, Ross had not left Demelza’s side for more than a few spare minutes when her duties as maid of honour had called her away. He had been so taken with his own partner--and she with him--they hadn’t even noticed half of the guests who had been invited; no doubt anyone in the room would have been able to read their love.

“I hadn’t realised you were there,” Ross apologised.

“Tell me what colour eyes does Dr. Carne have?” he asked Ross.

“Blue,” Ross replied. But that did not fully describe the wonder of eyes that seemed to change according to the seasons and her moods. _Cerulean, beryl, azure_ \--anyone who had lived his life next to the ever-changing sea as he had, would know a hundred shades of blue.

“Yes well, this ring would be a lovely match for blue eyes. It would look lovely on any woman,” the old man reassured him.

“Thank you.” Ross averted his glance, trying not to blush.

“Ah yes well, Mister Poldark, a ring as magnificent as that would look lovely on any woman, but you know a woman as magnificent as Dr. Carne, would look lovely in any ring.”

Ross saw at once Mr. Pennington was correct. He knew Demelza looked great in anything--in her bright yellow rain trousers, in jeans and flip flops, in a fancy ball gown-- or in her bare skin.  The ring would only stand out because it was on _her_ special finger, not because it was a special ring.

“And tell me Mr. Poldark. Will we need to have it sized for her?  

Good god! How had he missed that detail and how the hell would he get Demelza’s ring size without coming out and asking her?

Ross knew he was out of his depths and as much as he disliked having to open up, there was only one person he trusted who might be able to help him.

\----

“Ross I’m glad you rang. Is something the matter?” Verity sounded worried.

“I need your assistance, Verity, but I’d rather not go into great detail. I need…” He’d have to just come out and say it. “Do you know Demelza’s ring size?”

“Oh Ross!” Verity gushed through the phone. “We’ve been hoping! Oh, when are you proposing?”

“I’m not,” he muttered, embarrassed by his cousin’s confusion. “It’s not an engagement ring--just a Christmas gift. I want to give her my mother’s old blue ring.”

“Just a ring? Well whatever you say. She’ll adore it! It was so special to your mum, you know,” Verity replied.

“I had thought so.”

“And she wanted you to have it,” Verity added softly.

“She did?”

“Yes Ross. When she was ill she asked your father to please bury her with her wedding ring but to set the other ring aside for you to give to someone special one day, just as your father had given it to her.”

“No one told me. How do you know this?”

“Well it was a Poldark ring so someone must have told me. My mother maybe? It’s rather funny you see. Our grandfather bought it and some other jewelry at an estate sale. He thought that ring the least valuable of it all so he gave it to your father while he gave the rest to my father--you know, as the oldest son. But it was that ring that was the hidden treasure in the whole lot. There had been a brooch too, with a big ruby in it. It was rather unexceptional--dated from the 1960s, so no great history. Francis gave it to Elizabeth when they married. She has set aside for Geoffrey Charles, I am told.”

Verity didn't have to say aloud that Elizabeth had far fancier jewelry and plenty of it--since she’d married George Warleggan. And Ross didn't want to think about how fortunate it was that he hadn’t had the ring to give to Elizabeth back when they were together. His father hadn’t particularly liked Elizabeth--maybe he had held the ring back deliberately?

“Look, Ross, I’ll see what I can do. Discreetly of course. But we must also discuss Christmas--you are coming to Trenwith again this year?” Verity asked.

“Get me Demelza’s ring size and then we’ll talk,” he countered.


	4. Chapter 4

Of course Verity came through. All she had to do was ask Caroline’s former assistant--who had on occasion dressed Demelza for Caroline’s fancy parties. Emma had no cause to question Verity’s motives and simply delivered the information quickly and without prying.

And now Ross had the ring back in his possession. All repairs and sizing had been done expediently by Mr. Pennington, who seemed happy to have had the chance to be reacquainted with a favoured piece of jewelry. He had offered Ross a new box for it but Ross thought that somehow the original tattered leather case added something.

 _Character_ , Demelza would call it.

Ross would need a hiding place until Christmas. He thought about the library or even his desk drawer in his office at the quarry. In the end, he tucked it back in the top drawer where his father had left it abandoned for so many years. But this sort of hiding in plain sight worried him after all, and he woke in the middle of the night remembering that Demelza had been sorting through old woolens from that very drawer. The ring needed to be moved at once.

He looked over at Demelza who was asleep and thought he might be able to do it now, without waking her. Quietly he slid from the bed and crossed the chilly room. He tried to open the drawer with the same stealth but it stuck and offered up a loud squeak, just like every other piece of old furniture at Nampara often did.

“Mmm,” Demelza murmured but didn't open her eyes. Ross froze and waited for what felt like hours until he was convinced she wouldn’t awaken. Finally he slid the drawer open and fumbled around for the ring. But where should he hide it?

In the bottom drawer there was an old wooden cigar box. What if he put the ring box inside that larger box, at least just for now? Then tomorrow he could move the box into the library to hide among Joshua’s things on the shelves or in one of the old chests. Ross moved quickly concealing box in box, then felt overcome with doubt again. This time he shoved the ring box into an old leather glove then put the glove into the wooden box. He had just shut the bottom drawer, when Demelza stirred again.

“What is it Ross?” she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Did the moon wake you too?”

“No, my love. Go back to sleep,” he said softly and quickly returned to her side. He gently stroked her shoulder and then her hip.  

She did as she was told, and within seconds had gone back to sleep despite the dazzling moonlight that seemed to spotlight her.

 _And you my love, was it just your own charms and beauty that seduced the master of this house or was it witchcraft_? he thought as he watched her breathe beside him.

\---

“We need to talk about our Christmas plans. We’ve been invited to Trenwith,” Ross said over breakfast.

“I know. Verity rang me yesterday.”

“Oh? And?” he asked. Apparently Verity having completed her end of the bargain was eager to have him fulfill his. So eager she had circumvented him altogether. Ross hoped that in her excitement, Verity hadn’t let anything slip about the ring. He felt certain she wouldn't but was now just looking for something to go awry with this gift.

“Well, I’m not overly fond of the idea of spending Christmas with your ex-wife and her cold-hearted husband who tried to put you out of business and has no qualms about who he puts in harm’s way but…” Demelza began, putting aside her half eaten toast.

“No, of course, we shouldn’t go,” Ross muttered.

“No Ross. I’m not done. I was going to say I believe we _should_ go--for Verity, and Aunt Agatha and Geoffrey Charles,” she said resolutely. “It isn't fair to them to be left alone with the Warleggans. They will all be there, no?”

“It sounds like it. Geoffrey Charles will be glad to see you. He has a fondness for you, you know,” Ross said.

“And I him. He’s grown quite charming. I should have liked to meet his father.” And without saying another word, she made it clear she didn't believe any such traits could have been inherited from the boy’s mother. “No Ross, we should go but only if you promise not to rumble with George over something petty.”

“What if it’s not petty?” he countered.

“Oh it won’t matter how big nor small. I know you when you are ‘in your cups’, and I don't want to spend Christmas in A & E while you have your broken nose reset.”

“Maybe I’d be the one to break his nose? Okay, okay. I’ll behave for you,” Ross smiled playfully.

“Excellent, Ross. Now I on the other hand will require copious drink to manage but they always have fine port at Trenwith, don't they?”

“And you are quite sure you are okay with this plan?” he asked, growing serious again.

“If I weren't, I would say something Ross. You know I don’t hide things from you.”

 _No, you never have,_ he thought.

“Verity has asked me to make some family recipes for Christmas dinner so tell me if there is something in particular you fancy,” she said and rose to get more coffee.

“I’m sure anything you make will be delicious, Demelza. Recipes from whose family? Yours?”

“No, yours. Poldark recipes.”

“Well I have no recipes--maybe Prudie does. Verity has cooked Christmas dinner for years now--since her mother died--so she’s the one with all the recipes,” he said, happily taking another cup of black coffee as she poured it for him.

“We are almost out of milk,” she said with a sigh and dribbled the last of it into her cup. “Is that when you and Verity became close? After her mother died?”

“I suppose yes. We still had fathers but they weren’t good for much...her father hid his grief by spending all his money buying up real estate that he later had to sell off. And my father, yes, well we know how he moved on…We’re all orphans now I suppose. You, Verity, me, Dwight, Caroline. I’m sorry, that's not very bright talk for Christmas is it?” he said.

“No, Ross, I believe there are loads of stories of orphans at Christmas. You know--the poor orphan boy who finds a shiny apple in the snow and teaches the mean-spirited rich lady the true meaning of Christmas?”

“And we are supposed to take heart and learn from them?” he asked with a raised brow. He didn't have much patience for those sorts of Christmas tales that only pretended to upset the status quo. “In the end she may no longer be mean-spirited but she still is rich and all the poor boy has is a bloody apple…”

“Oh Ross, you know there are other kinds of treasure,” she brushed his last comment away. “And now that you mention it, my favourite Christmas was once when I was a girl and my father was away, so it was as though we were orphans.”

“He left you alone on Christmas?” he asked. By now Demelza had told quite a few stories about Tom Carne’s abuse and neglect but they still startled him. He was thankful the man was dead and he’d never had to deal with him. Ross was quite sure he would not have been able to control his temper or his fists around someone who had deliberately harmed her, even if it had been years ago.

“Yes, he was working for a firm that did clean up after fires and floods. Do you recall all those arsons in Pendeen? Well, he got called away after one but we had no regrets. I think my uncle was supposed to see that we had a proper dinner but he just gave us 20 quid and went out with his mates. So my brothers and I went to the shops and bought all the crisps, and sweets, and utter rubbish we wanted for our Christmas dinner and then sat in front of the telly for hours on end. It was simply marvelous. And we all knew how special it was, so we got along and there was no rowing at all. My youngest brother Drake--oh he was so young then--he decided he wanted to have an all orange feast, so he chose cheddar cheese puffs, orange Fanta, orange jellies, tinned mandarins and then--of course-- he was sick. But my other brother, Sam, cleared it up and didn't make me do it, saying I did all the cleaning most days and I deserved a break too,” she laughed, then her voice grew soft. “I never forgot that.”

“Your favourite Christmas story is a time you didn’t have to clean up orange sick?” he teased.

“Oh don't feel sorry for me, Ross,” she laughed again. “I assure you I had much more fun that day than whatever you were doing with the dark and gloomies here at Nampara or Trenwith or wherever. Let me guess--drinking too much? Sending sly barbs at one another across your oh-so-well-laid table? Or did Aunt Agatha give you each a tarot reading with extra doom that night?”

He let out a roar of laughter.

“Oh you know us well, Demelza!”

_As though you are one of us._

“No, that Christmas, I learned what it meant to be free. I mean really free. Free to make my own decisions--and then also suffer from my mistakes. But it was glorious. And I knew that’s what I wanted in my life. Not to be bound by another’s demands and whims. Ever again.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at his lap.

 _Of course_.

She’d said this before--how much being free and independent had meant to her her whole life. She wouldn't want to give that up to be a _wife_ , to be _bound_ to him, no matter how enlightened and modern their relationship was. And if he mentioned marriage now, if he told her he had even been thinking about it, she’d be so disappointed in him, wouldn’t she? He didn't really understand her or her desires. He was selfish and only thought of himself. Just like when he gave her the gold watch.

“Ross? Are you alright? You suddenly seemed…”

“No, my love. I’m fine,” he smiled weakly and kissed her head.


	5. Chapter 5

The battle against the Nampara mice that Demelza was determined to fight in secret was not going well. The kitchen seemed to be the main front and the unwanted guests were growing bolder and bolder. They made appearances during daylight now and didn't make much of an effort to scurry away when discovered.

Even poor Garrick was under attack. His dish was showing signs of being raided so Demelza had taken to standing sentry while he ate his supper. She’d managed to catch one mouse alive and took it far from the house in a jar before releasing it.

She knew she’d have to change her stance on killing them though; surely Ross would learn of the pests sooner or later and he might be vexed to know she had let it get as bad as it was.

Demelza hadn’t realised there was a second battlefront until one afternoon she discovered evidence the mice had advanced as far as the bedroom. She was bundling up the old hand knitted mittens and cap to lend to Verity, when she spotted a few small holes had been chewed through a woolen sock. At first she thought it must have been moths, but when she saw the loose wool balled up in the back of the drawer she made a chilling deduction.

“Fucking hell! Prudie!” she shouted and this time didn't care what the housekeeper heard her say. “Look,” she said, as Prudie entered the room breathless.“These bloody mice are now nesting in my sock drawer!”

“Oh that’s never good, is it? Still better than crawling over yer knickers!” Prudie said. “Looks like it’s traps then, eh?”

“Yes, you were right, I should have listened to you. I’ll drive into town and get some this afternoon. And I’ll tell Ross tonight,” Demelza sighed, then looked at her watch. “I’d better get a move on. Verity will be here any minute for these things.” But she didn't like the idea of leaving any more woolens for the mice to take up residence in, so she began to gather up most of the contents of the top drawers. “Will you help me, Prudie? These might be safer in one of the old chests in the library. Isn’t one of them iron? They can’t chew through that, can they?”

“All of it or just the socks?” Prudie asked.

“Let’s clear all the drawers for now. I’ll sort it all later,” Demelza replied.

\---

That afternoon Demelza considered another strategy in the hopes of reclaiming Nampara from foreign invaders. She had heard the first trap snap shut and was bracing herself for the gruesome task of removing the first victim. As a field biologist she was well acquainted with dead animals but it was rare that she could be implicated in their demise. She’d have preferred to outsource the violence.

“Of course! We just need another cat,” she exclaimed aloud. Yes, it was time. She’d broach the subject with Ross when he got home, after she finally told him about the mice. Or was this a decision that she, as mistress of Nampara could make on her own? Was Ross not perpetually reminding her that this was her home as well as his?

Perhaps she could surprise him. She could get the cat then tell him about the mice.

Or maybe even go one step further.  

She had already gotten a bottle of Hibiki Japanese Harmony to give him for a Christmas present. She knew he liked it but it was the description of the whisky that had caught her attention. _Two flavours--light and dark._

 _Just like Ross_ , she had thought. But now she thought it would keep until his birthday in January.  And maybe it was too impersonal of a gift for Christmas. He had chosen such a touching inscription on her watch last year; she’d have to match that gift with something equally as warm this Christmas.

“Yes,” she laughed. “Something warm.”


	6. Chapter 6

In the days just before Christmas, Ross had two shocks that caused his world to grow quite bleak at once. The first was when he went to retrieve the wooden cigar box-- and the secret treasure it contained--from the dresser in the bedroom. He found to his bewilderment that all the drawers were completely empty. The box, the glove, and the ring were nowhere to be found.

He panicked and then in frustration, nearly threw the empty drawer across the room.

“What is it Mister Ross?” Prudie asked, hearing the commotion. He was relieved it had been Prudie and not Demelza who had come across him in such a distraught state. He took a chance that the housekeeper might know something.

“I’m looking for--the things that were in this dresser. Have you any idea where Demelza put them?” he asked, trying to sound calm. Meanwhile his heart was racing and his gut twisted in despair.

“Ah, yes we did a proper clearin' up. ‘Course I had to help her a bit, you know. Tidyin' doesn’t come easy to her,” Prudie said, with a wink and a smile. “But no worries, Mister Ross. All that’s now in the library. In the old chest.”  

Without saying a word Ross marched straight downstairs and flung open the old trunk that had been tucked against the wall by the hearth. He rummaged through piles of old jumpers, felt hats, silk scarves, thick socks, and mismatched gloves, but didn’t see the wooden cigar box anywhere. Now he flung the clothes on the floor and began his desperate search once again.

“Prudie!” He bellowed only to find she was already standing right behind him. “I’m looking for an old wooden box about so big. I think it says _Temple Hall_ in gold script on the top. Have you seen it?” he asked frantically.  

“I don’t see it nowhere. But Demelza did take out a few bin bags of old things. Maybe she’s tossed it--I can ask her…”

“No! Don’t say a word to her. Do you understand?” Ross roared, then raced to the yard.

But luck was not on his side for the rubbish had been collected that very morning. He stared inconsolably into the empty bin and tried to calm the tempest that raged in his belly.

His spirits were crushed. It wasn’t Demelza’s fault, of course, and he could never tell her. It would destroy her if she found out she’d accidentally thrown away a precious family heirloom. He supposed he could contact the rubbish collector to see if there was a way to search for the bags in question but he imagined that any such attempts would be futile.

No, he’d just have to let this go. And he’d need help to think of a new present for her. But with so little time left to shop... He couldn’t bear to think of that now.

The rest of that evening Ross tried to mask his troubled mood but sensed he was doing a lousy job concealing his feelings, at least from Demelza. He considered driving out to Grace Quarry to hide in his work but it had already grown dark and to go back to the office on a Friday evening would surely be questioned.

“You all right, Ross?” Demelza asked him for what seemed like the fiftieth time in recent days. She poured them each a glass of wine before dinner, then leaned against the sink eyeing him carefully.

“Yes, it's nothing. Just Grace…” He said absently, taking the glass from her. He didn't like to lie to her. “Or maybe it’s just a winter thing. Dark days, you know,” he added gruffly, hoping these two excuses sounded plausible to her. She was usually so perceptive.

“Well, Ross. Let’s see…’ _I heard a bird sing, in the dark of December, a magical thing, and sweet to remember. ‘We are nearer to Spring, than we were in September_ ,’” she recited proudly then laughed. “Or something like that. You’re the expert at verse, at afterall.”

“Yes, that’s it.” He smiled a weak smile and looked at her.

 _I am so fortunate to have her in my life. She sees the good in everything_ , he thought. _Even the darkest days._

But after dinner, one more blow was delivered that shattered any dreams he may have still harboured.

Ross hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but as he walked towards the kitchen with dishes he’d cleared from the dining table, he heard Demelza and Prudie speaking in hushed tones. He considered clearing his throat or clomping about so they’d hear his heavy steps on the flagstone floor, but before he could act, he caught just enough of the conversation to make his heart stop.

“Did you go see it then?” Prudie sounded unusually judgmental. She never questioned anything Demelza did but today there was just a hint of disapproval in her voice.

“Oh yes! I think I found one that I fell instantly in love with. I wasn’t expecting that-- but I should have known. Don’t look that way Prudie. I let this go on too long. It was time…” Demelza replied.

“And all the way in Truro?” Ross thought Prudie might have actually been tapping her foot now. “There’s nothin' closer?” she asked Demelza, her tone had sharpened.

“Oh Prudie, Truro’s hardly far! I saw the advert in the paper--and it was worth it--perfect really. I was worried it might be too tiny for me but...no, it will be brilliant. I haven't felt this excited in so long, it’s silly, isn’t it?”

Ross didn’t hear the next words, his mind was racing.  What was Demelza talking about? Then he heard his own name and resumed his listening.

“Remember, don’t tell Ross. Not yet,” Demelza said.

“He’ll find out soon enough, I suppose,” Prudie muttered.

“It’s a big decision--a serious one--and I guess if I’m honest I don’t want to give him a chance to talk me out of it.”

“Do you think he would?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Demelza said softly, maybe even sadly. Then the brightness returned to her voice as she continued. “I had my pick of two you know. One was lighter and the other so dark! But in the end I finally chose and they're holding it for me.”

“I just don’t like the idea of Mister Ross findin’ out on Christmas,” Prudie said. “Maybe give him some warnin'…”

“No, I think I know Ross. It’s the right time,” she said to Prudie, clearly trying to convince her.

Ross heard the back door close and suspected it had been Prudie who had left in a what may have been a huff. He tried to steady himself lest he drop the plates he still held in his hand; his mind was still running in circles.

What was this secret that Demelza was afraid of telling him? What had she been checking out in Truro?

Was Demelza looking to let a room? Could she be... moving out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Heard a Bird Sing by Oliver Herford From Welcome Christmas! A Garland of Poems (Viking Press, 1955).  
> This poem is now in the public domain.


	7. Chapter 7

In the days just before Christmas, Ross was distraught and Demelza knew it. Whatever had been a low level distress the past two weeks, seemed now near crisis. All weekend, he shut himself in the library for hours on end, ate only half of any meal, and seemed unable to join in any of the merriment Demelza attempted to spread around Nampara.

Well, maybe he was trying, at least in half measures? He sat stiffly beside her on the sofa watching the Liverpool match and though he showed little emotion as Demelza roared in excitement at Salah’s goal, at least he hadn’t left the room. And he helped her haul in the tree, although he stared blankly into the fire while she and Prudie decorated it. He did drink some mulled wine she offered and even managed a weak smile when he tasted the extra brandy she’d put in it. But when he closed his eyes and leaned back in his armchair, Demelza sensed--rather she _knew_ \--he wanted to be elsewhere.

 _Oh my poor Ross_ , she thought. _What have I done?_

She would have pried, but not with Prudie present. And she needed Prudie in her good graces and on her side to help her execute her surprise on Christmas. Whatever heart to heart she would have with Ross would need to wait until they were alone.

But any hopes they could discuss--and resolve--whatever _this_ was, were further dashed as they settled in bed that night. Ross turned from her after a perfunctory kiss and only muttered “good night.”  She contemplated stroking his bearded cheek or kissing his exposed bicep--but his hunched shoulders were clearly telling her he didn't want to be bothered. He wanted to be asleep. And way from her.

Demelza lay still beside him, holding her breath without realising it, then silently slipped out from under the covers. Ross continued his steady breathing into his pillow--he’d either not noticed or perhaps couldn't be bothered to say anything. She meant to go read in the cosy armchair once downstairs but never even managed to open her book. Once she was alone, the deep groan that had sat huddled in her chest all day--waiting-- was finally released. Tears streamed down her face that she didn’t bother to wipe away. She was angry, resentful that Ross had shut himself off from her. And she didn't know what to do.

\---

When Ross woke in the early morning, he was alone. Had Demelza already risen? He somehow doubted it and also sensed, though he wasn’t sure why, that she had not been in their bed for some time.

Quickly he rose and first checked the bathroom, then finding it empty, ventured downstairs. He found her asleep on the sofa. Garrick tucked beside her was stretched long across her body protecting her, but from what? The dog raised one furry brow to question his master’s intentions, then closed his eyes again with an emphatic sigh.

 _My sweet Demelza, what has caused you to pull away from me so suddenly?_ He longed to go closer-- to stroke her head or whisper in her ear but instead resolved let her be alone if that was what she desired. He turned silently towards the kitchen to start the day.

\---

“Prudie, I thought we had more apples,” Demelza called, looking glumly at the empty basket on the pantry shelf.

“We did but um…” Prudie began, then lowered her voice. “I found some you-know-whats crawlin’ amongst ‘em so I chucked ‘em all.”

“Oh? Well thank you, I suppose. I’d better go out now and buy some more. Verity is counting on me for Christmas dessert. Eww...I can’t stand thinking of them crawling on our food,” Demelza said.

“Yes, well, caught a few more in the traps last night. Don’t worry--I took care of ‘em for you--tossed ‘em in the yard, I did,” Prudie said.

“Oh, Prudie, thank you,” Demeza said earnestly. Over the past few days she found she was liking the trapping plan less and less, as it was yielding grisly results.

“Have you spoken to Mister Ross?” Prudie asked her.

“No, but I will soon. Ugh! I can’t wait to have this end!” she grunted and grabbed up her wallet to carry out her errand.

Demelza had no idea that Ross was just feet away in the hallway emerging from the library, nor could she know how many of her last words he had heard.

\--

But Ross had heard enough to feel the very earth give way beneath him. And it seemed to confirm his fears.  Demelza wanted her life at Nampara to be over.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Alright, Mister Ross. You tell ole Prudie, what’s this all gloom about then?” Prudie finally asked on Monday morning.

Ross was sitting at the kitchen table with a third cup of coffee and hadn’t stirred to leave for work yet. He felt that any moment now his world would crumble around him, so he wanted to stand still and do nothing to hasten the inevitable.  

He rested his head in his hands and exhaled. Demelza was out already so he needn’t worry about her seeing him unravel. He thought about fully confiding in Prudie but didn't want to put her in the uncomfortable position of having to choose loyalties. She’d faithfully worked for the Poldarks for decades but had grown so fond--and fiercely attached--to Demelza in just a short time.

“It’s complicated, Prudie.” He decided to take a chance that she could offer him advice on one score. “But for starters, I have yet to buy Demelza a Christmas present.”

“Mister Ross! It’s already the 23rd! What are you waitin’ for, Boxing Day?!” She chastised him exactly as he expected she would.

“I had an idea--one I thought was brilliant-- but it turned out to be…” he stammered.

“Rubbish?”

_Oh if only you knew the half of it._

“Aye Mister Ross. Better get her somethin’ expensive to make up for your crap timin’.”

“Expensive? For Demelza?”

“Why not? ‘Course she’s worth it! And she loves that watch you gave her last year,” Prudie said.

“She does?”

 _Oh what did it matter anyway?_ he thought. It would be their last Christmas together. Why should he bother to give her anything meaningful if her plans were to break up with him on Christmas of all days? Was it a stubborn pride or maybe the hope that the guilt upon receiving one last thoughtful gift from him might wound her in some way?

Still he had nothing for her. Well, that wasn’t quite true. On impulse he had picked up two pairs of cashmere socks while last in Truro. He figured she might find them softer at night on her cold feet than the itchy ones she’d salvaged from the dresser. But now...so what if her feet were cold? That wouldn't be his concern for long.

Ross had even considered getting another ring of some sort and had gone so far as to visit another vintage jewelry shop. He knew he should go back to Pennington’s since the jeweler had been served his family--and now him--so well over the years, but he couldn’t face explaining what had happened to the first ring.  

But as the woman in the shop handed over an antique garnet ring for him to inspect, Ross’s heart sank. Of course a ring was just asking for trouble. What was he thinking? Was he hoping she’d change her mind if he found the perfect gift? This one was lovely and garnets were among her favourite stones, so Demelza would love it--or at least the old Demelza would. But not the Demelza who was on the way out the door.

And he’d never forget this was a shoddy replacement for the lost ring. That pale ring with its secrets had been treasured for almost a century and passed on and on with love.

 _Well it’s fitting it’s lost then since everything else of importance is lost too_ , he thought and left the shop without making a purchase.

“Don’t worry, Mister Ross, I have just the idea,” Prudie’s face lit up in a grin. If he hadn’t been staring so intently into his coffee cup he would have seen her smile was suspiciously devilish.

\---

Ross examined the crumpled up piece of paper he’d shoved into his coat pocket and at the address of the building in front of him. Prudie’s writing wasn’t the most legible so he wasn’t sure if the last number was a 3 or an 8. This wasn’t a part of Truro he was familiar with--student housing it seemed. He took a chance and rang the bell.

Inside the flat smelled strongly of incense and some other smoke that someone was desperate to cover up. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and the rubbish bin needed changing as well.

Ross didn’t see the sitting room but imagined it was filled with rickety bookshelves, odd futons, indigenous wall coverings--maybe a poster of Che for good measure? He laughed thinking of his own student days.

_Good god, I’ve grown old. No doubt students today are far more sophisticated._

“Yes, mate, you’ve come right in time,” said a young man with closely cropped hair but an impressively bushy beard. He was barefoot so Ross assumed he must be one of the flat’s residents.

“We’ve only the one left,” a cheerful woman in a long skirt explained, as she danced over to a large cardboard box in the middle of the kitchen.

She reached in and held up a small orange kitten, then without warning, thrust it at Ross.

He was caught off guard to suddenly be holding something so small and delicate. But the kitten immediate began to purr under his hand and rubbed its face against his collar. Instinctively he held it closer to his cheek and it immediately responded by mewing and nuzzling against his beard. The purr grew louder still.

Ross smiled for what may have been the first time in days.

“This one is actually pretty rare, you know,” the woman said.  Ross couldn’t tell if she was in her late teens or early thirties. She had pink cheeks and a round face that exuded youth. “Orange cats are almost always male but this one seems to be a female. Plus look at her paws--she’s a polydactyl!”

Sure enough the the little cat had an extra digit on each of her front paws that made them appear to be over sized mitts. As if on cue, she reached up and gently put one to Ross’s hairy face then closed her eyes.

“Our landlady was not too happy about them. We weren’t even supposed to have their mum but you know, cats happen. So you’ll be doing us a great favour by taking this last one. Less likely to be evicted!” the man laughed.

“You might want to consider having the mother fixed,” Ross suggested, then realised how pedantic and moralising that made him sound.

“Yes, we know, we know. The last lady to come ‘round really gave us an earful on responsible pet ownership,” the woman groaned.

“Ay, she seemed normal but she was a right nutter when it came to animals,” the man said, shaking his head.

\---

Ross put the closed box on the floor by the passenger seat hoping it would be warm enough. Its ginger inhabitant gave a series of mews--more like trilling chirps--to remind him of her presence, and to voice her objections to being restrained.

He sighed before he turned the ignition.

 _Well, its done._  

Demelza would obviously love this kitten, and it in turn could keep its mistress company in her new life. He was heartened to think of leaving Demelza with something so loving and sweet. And he was small and bitter enough to hope that every time Demelza cuddled it close, she’d be reminded of the love she cast aside for her precious freedom.

\----

Ross was glad to meet Prudie at the back door of Nampara, for he hadn’t really planned how to conceal a cat in the house. She quickly took the box from him.

“Where are you taking…” he began to question, then realised he didn't want to be separated from the kitten just yet. She had chirped all the way home and only stopped once he reached in to stroke her fur. Her coat was so soft and her little body felt mushy under his big hand. Ross knew he would have to try harder not to fall for her.

“No worries, Mister Poldark. I have a safe warm space for it in the barn. I’ll tend to the little mite until you’re ready to give it to her. Will it be tomorrow, then?”

“Yes...tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Might as well…” _Get it over with_ , he wanted to say.

“Oh it’s beaute!” Prudie cooed as she looked in the box. “You go on in. She’s busy bakin' so she won’t notice a thing.”

\---

Ross stepped through the door and removed his muddy shoes before entering the kitchen. Demelza stood in front of the work table paring apples. A substantial heap of peeled ones were on the pastry board but there seemed to be a nearly-full basket in front of her. Her red hair was piled on her head and she hummed a soft tune to herself as she went about her work.

Oh, she was lovely. He felt his heart break as he moved through the doorway.

“Have you had a busy day?” she asked cheerfully when she noticed him in the room.

“It was... productive. Do you need help?” he asked softly, afraid his voice might break.

“Oh no. You go pour yourself something nice and put your feet up. I’ll call you when supper is ready.”

He meant to protect his heart but couldn’t resist coming close to kiss her. It was a slow and tender kiss and he hoped she caught the depths of his feelings.

“I love you, Demelza.” he said in a low gravelly voice. “I want you to know that.”

“Oh Ross,” she said, “Of course I do.” She smiled as she kissed him back, then laughed lightly.

 _How could she pretend?_ he marveled.

Regretfully, he turned and left her to her work.


	9. Chapter 9

The first half of Christmas Eve was agonisingly slow for Ross. A chilly silence had descended on Nampara that no festive music nor garlands of greenery could dispel.

Ross had woken early and took a long walk alone along the cliffs. He considered going for a swim in the swirling dark December sea but thought against it. He could always do that later in the day-- _afterwards_ \--as a way of numbing his pain.

Finally, knowing he could avoid it no longer, Ross turned and began his somber march back to Nampara.

“Ross! Where have you been?” Demelza asked, as he entered the door. She took his coat from him and hung it up after giving it a gentle shake. He was so preoccupied he hadn’t even realised it had started to rain.

“I had to do some thinking,” he said.

“Oh,” she said solemnly. “Well, come sit by the fire. I have some soup almost done if you’re wanting lunch.”

What he really wanted was her. He was overcome with a fierce desire to pull her upstairs and make love to her, one last, desperate time. But he didn't dare ask. He couldn’t bear the possibility of being rejected nor could he face her insincere passion, if she agreed.

They ate silently. Every now and then Demelza opened her mouth as though she was going to speak, then bit her lip.

 _Any moment now,_ he thought. _I should make this easier for her and broach the subject myself._

Just then the phone rang and Prudie came bustling it, a wide grin plastered across her face. At least someone was having fun today.

“Demelza! It’s your brothers for you,” she announced.

“Oh how lovely!” Demelza exclaimed and jumped from the table. Demelza’s brothers worked on an international fishing boat and she hadn’t seen them in months. Obviously she was excited to speak to them on Christmas Eve.

“Don't worry Mister Ross. I been checkin’ on our little friend and she’s doin' just grand,” Prudie whispered when they were alone.

Ross sat listening Demelza’s animated laughter that rang out from the other room, then rose from the table. But before he sequested himself in the library, he opened the cupboard and grabbed the half-drunk bottle of Tomatin Highland whisky he had stashed inside.

\---

Try as she might, Demelza still couldn’t fathom Ross’s moods. Last evening he seemed sad but tender, maybe almost needy, but today--on Christmas Eve of all days--he had a cold, hard edge. After she rang off with her brothers, she found Ross asleep in the stiff old chair in the library, an empty bottle at his side.

 _Brilliant. Now he’s moody and drunk_ , she thought. Disappointed, she decided to give him a wide berth until dinner and instead of prying, went for a run along the cliffs.

When she returned home an hour later-- wet and stiff and still unsettled--she went straight for the bath. Perhaps a long hot soak might soothe her body, even if her spirits could not be consoled. Demelza tried not to imagine the times she and Ross squeezed into that very tub together. How exhilarating yet comforting it had been to entwine her body with his as the warm water splashed over them and on to the floor. Now she’d have to practice controlling her thoughts and numb herself to the ache that grew steadily in her heart.

She stayed in the tub until the water turned cold and the last bits of afternoon light had faded. Finally she could avoid it no more. She dressed quickly in the dim bath and went to wake Ross.


	10. Chapter 10

“That’s enough! Both of you!” Prudie snapped. “Christmas Eve is no time for such sour faces!” She had brought in a bottle of chilled prosecco and two glasses that she slammed on the table in front of the sofa. Apparently seasonal merriment was not optional.

Demelza laughed at such a bold pronouncement but Ross found himself speechless. He had certainly not expected to be told off so plainly by the housekeeper.

“You two sit by the fire and exchange your gifts--now!” Prudie ordered. “I’ll go and fetch ‘em for you.” Clearly excited to be part of their secrets, she turned and scurried from the room.

“Merry Christmas, Ross,” Demelza said tentatively, and moved closer to him on the sofa. “You feel alright? Maybe you should eat a little something before you have anything else to drink,” she suggested gently.

“I’m fine,” he said, suddenly feeling quite sober. “Before Prudie comes in, I have this for you. It’s not much but I thought of you and...” he said and handed her the small parcel that had been gift wrapped by some cheerful shop assistant just days before.

“Ross, they are simply darling! And so soft!” She smiled holding up the grey and pink cashmere socks. “But I know this was entirely in your own self interest! You didn't want to feel my scratchy feet on you all these cold winter nights to come!” She kissed him, then rubbed the soft wool playfully on his cheek.

He didn't understand.

She seemed genuinely pleased by a few socks--a completely impersonal and underwhelming present. And had she just been referring to  _ future  _ nights together? He felt strangely confident this wasn’t an act.

But before he could study Demelza’s face further, Prudie came in, holding two identical boxes under her arms. She placed them on the table in front of the sofa, then peeked under the lids without revealing the contents of either.

“Alright then. Mister Ross, this one's for you,” she began.

“From me!” chirped Demelza, her eyes glued on Ross’s puzzled face.

“And this one's for you then, Demelza. From Mister Ross,” Prudie said and placed the other box in Demelza’s lap.

“But it’s the same...I don't understand...” Demelza started.

They both heard the trilling little mews before the lids were lifted.

“What in god’s name...Prudie?” Ross asked.

“Oh surprise! Look what you both did then!” Prudie laughed.

Ross reached into his box and pulled out a tiny kitten. It was black and fluffy, with the same oversized paws Ross recognised from the day before. It mewed its assent at having been freed from its temporary prison, then called out to its orange littermate, who had also been liberated and was already crawling up Demelza’s shoulder.

“Oh Ross! Another kitten! I love it!” she laughed, trying to get a better look at the creature who seemed to want to nest in her hair. “And they are better adopted in pairs, so the both of them together are perfect. I love it so much--maybe too much. And Prudie, you were behind this?” Demelza asked. “Who knew you were so sly!”

“I am indeed,” Prudie said proudly. “What do you think of the little tacker? He looks just like you, Mister Ross!”

“Yes, he does. So dark and warm and furry,” Demelza smiled and kissed Ross’s bearded cheek. “That’s why in the end I chose him after I saw them both. But I did hate to leave the other one behind in Truro.”

“You went to Truro... for him?” he asked. It was all making sense now. This was the great secrecy. She hadn’t been seeking a room to let but had been getting him a kitten. And Prudie knew and had set them both up.

“Prudie was worried you might object, but I talked her around,” Demelza said proudly.

“I just didn't want to see you get yer heart broke, Demelza. That’s all. What if Mister Ross didn't like it but you had yer hopes set on keepin’ it?”

“Then we’d have kept it,” Ross said firmly. “If it came from Demelza, then it’s a cherished gift.”

“But tell me, when did you go back and get the other one for me?” she asked.

“Only yesterday,” he replied, transfixed by her smile.

“Oh Ross!” she cried again in delight. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you spayed so you won’t meet the same fate as your poor mum. And we’ll fix your brother too,” she cooed to the little orange kitten.

“So you’re the nutter who gave the lecture on responsible pet ownership? I might have known!” Ross gave great chuckle--a deep laugh from his gut that roared with spirit.

Demelza was so relieved to see him transformed-- _ her _ Ross was back. Her blues eyes shone as she plucked the kitten from his lap and placed it and its orange playmate on the floor. They immediately began to explore and chase each other around.

“I uh...I left something in the oven,” Prudie said, wiping her own eyes with the back of her hand.

“It is simply the sweetest present I’ve ever received!” Demelza whispered and snuggled close. She felt so happy, as though her heart might burst.

“But Ross, I have to tell you, this was also a practical gift. You see...we have mice in the house. And I should have told you sooner. I don’t know why I kept it from you. I guess you seemed so preoccupied lately, I didn’t want to bother you...”

“Mice?  _ That  _ was your big secret?” he laughed. “Oh Demelza! Of course I was aware of the mice. I may be stubborn and thick at times, but I’m not blind. I saw the droppings but didn’t want to alarm you. I was going to lay some traps after Christmas but yes...I can see cats are a better choice for a big old house like Nampara.”

“What do you mean  _ my big secret _ ? What did you know, Ross?”

“Oh, I knew nothing and I’ve never been so grateful to be wrong in my life. Demelza, these past few days...I misunderstood...I thought you might be moving out--and leaving me.”

“Leaving you? What? Ross, how could you doubt me like that? I couldn't leave you. And Nampara is my home! I belong here!” she cried. “What would ever give you such an idea?”

“Only my arrogance and idiocy, I assure you,” he tried to laugh but was getting choked up.

“You are such a lovely idiot, Ross.”

“Good god, Demelza, don’t ever leave.” He could only whisper now. Any other words got caught in his throat.

“Oh I won’t!” But she could barely get the words out before she was pulled into a crushing embrace. As he wrapped his strong arms around her, she felt the power and intensity of his love.

_ My Ross!   _ She thought as she buried her face in his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Ross and Demelza spent a slow and quiet, but sweetly indulgent, Christmas Day together. Since they had been up well after midnight, they slept in. And even after they woke around ten, they didn’t leave their bedroom until almost noon. They ate a leisurely brunch, followed by an even more leisurely walk along the beach with Garrick. And every moment in between was spent getting to know the newest residents of Nampara.

Garrick had been initially curious, then patiently disinterested as the kittens followed him around the house or swatted at his tail with their ridiculously large paws. Ross and Demelza decided to keep them in the library for the time being until they had grown a bit more used to their new surroundings. Demelza was worried they were still so small they might get trapped in the gaps in the floorboards, but Ross argued they were sturdier than they looked, and thought it more likely they’d climb the bookshelves or upset the Christmas tree.

“They’re surprisingly affectionate,” Demelza observed, as the little black one nibbled on her earlobe. “I thought kittens were more aloof with people.”

“Perhaps you bring that out in everyone,” Ross mused.

At last they could avoid it no longer and as the sun began to set, they prepared to get on with their last Christmas obligation--the promised visit to Trenwith. They made a soft nest for the kittens in a deep cardboard box in the library and shut the door. They doubted they’d be able to scale the box sides but if they managed, at least they couldn’t go far.

“It’s not too late to feign ill,” Ross said as he gathered his dress coat in the hallway then turned to see Demelza come down the stairs. She had changed into a black knit dress, its clinging fit flattered her slender body, and tonight she appeared taller than usual in the strappy heels she had on. On her wrist was the gold watch he’d given her the year before. She looked breathtakingly beautiful.

Ross loved Demelza in black--it somehow reminded him of the mysterious depths hidden behind her bright blue eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing certain extended relatives but thought that with such a lovely woman by his side tonight, he’d be fortified.

“No, Ross, we promised Verity,” she said and turned for him to finish zipping her up. “Besides, I’m in charge of dessert. At least one of them.”

Indeed she was, for once they were in the car, Ross was overwhelmed by the smell of baked apples. It was more a memory than a scent--a feeling that hit Ross deep in the back of the chest. He wasn’t sure what it meant or why he felt so unsteady at such a delicious smell.

“Demelza, what is that?” he asked, as she settled next to him with the covered tray on her lap.

“It’s just an apple pudding I was trying out. I meant it to be a surprise but it’s not really something I can hide, is it? Besides, no more surprises for you this Christmas, Ross.”

“It smells amazing,” he said softly.

As they drove the easy three miles to Trenwith, the intensity of the baked apple smell dissipated somewhat but every few minutes it would waft up and catch him off guard--and the confusing feeling returned.

\---

“Merry Christmas from the Trenwith Poldarks!” They were greeted in the grand hallway at Trenwith by Ross’s cousin Verity and their nephew Geoffrey Charles.

Ross thought Geoffrey Charles’s kiss on Demelza’s cheek lingered just a bit longer than was appropriate for a fourteen year old boy.  But since he had no desire to come across as the overly jealous uncle nor did he desire to create a fuss with one of the only living relatives he still cared about, he decided to let it go. Geoffrey Charles--not really a nephew but Ross’s first cousin once removed--seemed to have recently grown six inches but still had the lanky awkwardness of a young boy. And clearly he had not yet learned the subtleties of successful flirting.

“Where are your parents?” Demelza asked, politely removing Geoffrey Charles’s hand as it  wandered dangerously down her back.

“You mean my mum and my stepfather? Oh, this is the brilliant news!” Geoffrey Charles said. “Val got sick--I think he just too many custards this morning is all--so they stayed behind and sent me on with a driver!”

Ross exhaled a huge sigh of relief and only then did he begin to take off his coat. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Demelza was biting her lip, trying hard to conceal a smile.

“I’m only sorry that Verity who prepared dinner for eight will now only have five,” she said demurely.  

“Oh that’s where you’re mistaken, my dear,” Verity said. “I had prepared for eleven. The Enyses are here and Andrew will be by after he sees his children. So we’ll be still be eight! Come, we’re all in the parlour.”

“I’m on Aunt Agatha duty now but we’re all to take it in turns,” Geoffrey Charles whispered to Demelza.

“Right,” she winked at him then turned back to their hostess. “Oh Verity! I have to show you what Ross gave me for Christmas. Such a lovely surprise!” Demelza said, and paused to take out her mobile. “I hated to leave it behind but here, I have a photo. More like 400 really!”

“Yes! Let me see it--oh, you left it at home?” Verity asked, puzzled by what she saw as a strange choice. “Oh my!” she exclaimed when she saw the shot of the furry orange creature. “Ross gave you... a kitten?”

“Isn’t it darling? But look there’s two!” Demelza exclaimed, as Geoffrey Charles began scrolling through the dozens of other photos she’d taken all day.

“Aww!” Geoffrey Charles said.

“Ross? I thought...what happened to the…?” Verity whispered when she and Ross were alone.

“It’s a long story and in order to convey the horrors properly, I’d need to be fueled by no small number of drinks. But as I’ve promised Demelza I’d drive us home later, I’ll just need to tell you some other day,” he said.  

 _Or never._ Was it possible to never speak of it again to anyone ever?

“Of course,” Verity said, sensing the rising distress in Ross’s voice.

“But she’s happy now, and that’s all that matters,” Ross added, watching Demelza warmly greeting the other guests waiting in the parlour.

“And you too, Ross. You seem very happy.”

“Yes, Verity, I am,” he said and smiled at his cousin, to whom he could never lie.

_I’ve never felt such contentment in my life._

_\----_

“Are you planning on stealing the Poldark family silver?” Demelza teased, as she came across Geoffrey Charles examining a candlestick in the dining room.

“I suppose technically much of this is mine--or will be someday. Are there any pawn shops open on Christmas Day?’ he tried to laugh but Demelza detected something was amiss.

She sat down at the table and without saying a word, invited him to sit beside her.

“Aunt Demelza, may I call you that?” he asked.

“Yes, if it pleases you,” she smiled. _As long as it doesn’t displease your uncle._

“Well, I’m in a bit of a muddle and I thought perhaps I could...talk to you about it?”

“Me? I mean, of course…” she said, and looked at the boy. He had those same worried shadows around his eyes that she had seen in other Poldarks. “What is it Geoffrey Charles?” she asked softly.

“There are these boys at school…and I owe them some money. We’d been playing cards, see. I thought for sure they were bluffing but they weren’t and cleared me out. And I thought I could get the money from Uncle George and pay them straight away but he’s cut my allowance since I got my ear pierced. So just today I got a text from one of them--the big one called Malcolm-- and he’s rather steaming…”

Demelza nodded. She remembered Ross had mentioned that Geoffrey Charles’s late father had gambled a bit. She sincerely hoped this was a once off and wasn’t the beginning of a debilitating habit.  

As if reading her mind, the boy spoke. “I’ll never do that again. At least not before I get better at cards. Maybe Uncle Ross can teach me,” he laughed.

“Or Aunt Agatha,” Demelza added. “Geoffrey Charles, how much do you owe them?”

“Fifty quid,” he said solemnly.

Somehow she had expected the amount to be far greater--in the hundreds or even thousands maybe--and laughed in relief.

“Oh, Geoffrey Charles, fetch me my handbag. I happen to have cash on hand today. Look, this is a gift--not a loan. I want you to feel as though you can rely on your family, even when you are at your lowest. But do promise to make better choices in future and don’t get into potentially dangerous predicaments just to show off to your mates,” she said.

“They weren’t my mates, but point taken. Oh thank you, thank you, Aunt Demelza. And please... don’t tell Uncle Ross,” he added.

“That I can’t promise. I don't keep secrets from him. But I won’t tell him tonight. Better yet, why don’t you ring him tomorrow and tell him the whole story yourself?”

“What if I texted him instead?” Geoffrey Charles asked.

“Yes, that’d be fine too.”

“Thank you!” he said again and gave her another kiss on the cheek. He was stuffing the bills into his pocket just as Ross came through the doorway.

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles said, and went to join the others in the parlour.

“What was that all about?” Ross asked Demelza, handing her a newly filled glass of port.

“Haven’t you had enough listening in doorways, Ross?” she laughed. “Listen, Geoffrey Charles just told me something in confidence that he’ll tell you in his own time. He’s a bit in awe of you, Ross. You must see how he respects you.”

“Not sure what there is to respect,” he began, then saw her roll her eyes. “But I do trust your judgment, my love,” Ross said.

\---

It was a splendid evening, with cheerful talk, a wonderful meal, and a few card games played at Aunt Agatha’s insistence. Still Ross felt a bit anxious around his aunt when she was in her cups--what might her wandering mind reveal aloud? The insults he could handle but not the secrets. 

Tonight he enjoyed watching Demelza’s cheeks flush a soft pink as she drank whatever she was offered, and he remained content to stick to tea and fizzy lemonade. He made it a point of refilling Geoffrey Charles’s glass whenever he filled his own, to remind him he was on watch, lest the boy try to sneak something more spirited. But Ross and Geoffrey Charles were not the only abstemious guests at Trenwith that night. Andrew Blamey, Verity’s boyfriend, hadn’t drunk alcohol in years and Caroline Enys, who was close to eight months pregnant, was sticking to ginger tea.

“Not only am I abstaining from drink, I’m also abstaining from any movement at all. I’ve become a beached whale and I rather enjoy it,” Caroline laughed and rubbed her hand along her rounded belly. Of course it was draped in an elegant dark grey jersey top that seemed to make her blue eyes look larger and brighter.

“Caroline is exaggerating,” Dwight explained. “You still shop and do your pregnancy yoga religiously,” he reminded her.

“So true, dear. Shopping may be the only thing I’ve ever been religious about,” she said. “Look I’m so swollen now my rings no longer fit my fingers. So Dwight gave me this new one for Christmas. Isn’t it stunning? He designed it himself,” Caroline said and looked at Dwight with gratitude--and pride.

“Oh, it’s simply gorgeous!” Demelza gushed and took Caroline’s hand in hers. “I had no idea Dwight had such creativity!” Demelza laughed. Demelza had worked with Dwight for years and knew him well. But of course not as well as his wife did.

“I think I merely needed the right inspiration,” Dwight said, his eyes fixed on Caroline’s.

Ross watched at a distance, confused. The ring was large and boldly twisted, a very modern design. Did Demelza really admire the ring or was it the idea behind it that impressed her? He really did not know her taste at all, did he?

“My dear Demelza,” Caroline said.“Your hands are so pretty you could be a hand model. How do you manage when you are out in the harsh wind and up to your elbows in swamp water everyday?”

“Well I suppose I do wear gloves before I go poking about in any bird droppings,” Demelza laughed.

“What you need are some rings, though. Perhaps Ross could be of help there?” Caroline said with a sly brow.

“Oh they’re not exactly practical for field work, are they?” Demelza said quickly. “If you‘ll excuse me, I think it’s my turn with Aunt Agatha.”

“Caroline,” Dwight said, softly admonishing his wife before she embarrassed anyone else.

But Ross had heard the whole exchange and turned away before anyone could see the grey panic that had washed over his face.


	12. Chapter 12

Wisely they had all chosen to take some time to let the Christmas goose dinner settle before Verity called everyone back to the table for dessert. The spread was impressive--mince pies, spiced cake, trifle, and some exquisitely fine Viennese pastries Caroline had picked up in Truro. But what caught Ross’s attention was the fragrant apple pudding Demelza had brought.

“This is simply delicious, my dear,” Verity assured her. “I’m glad I found Aunt Grace’s recipe tucked in family our cookbook here. Don’t you like it, Ross?”

Ross had taken one bite and was instantly transported somewhere else--to another time when everything was warmth and love, when he had no worries, and his every whim indulged. He closed his eyes, inhaling the warm cinnamon, and savoured the rich, sweet mouthful. He blinked, then looked at the guests staring at him around the long Trenwith table.

“I’m sorry…” he began, and realised he had missed any conversation that had just happened around him.

“It’s your mum’s recipe, Ross,” Demelza explained. “Verity found it in her things and gave it to me to try. Did I do okay?” she asked earnestly.

“Good god, yes,” he said and put a hand to her cheek before he kissed her lips.

\----

“Demelza, did you see Christmas post of Verity’s blog?’ Caroline asked when the three of them were alone. Together Verity and Caroline had been running a blog called _Secrets of the Trenwith Kitchen_. Verity wrote the text--mostly recipes and gardening advice--while Caroline acted as art director. It was merely a hobby for Verity, although Caroline had pressured her from the start to make it a more commercial venture.

“Yes! I think it looked brilliant,” Demelza said. “And to think so many of the ‘heirlooms’ you showed were just rotting away in the trunks of Nampara. You made them look so precious.”

“Well they are precious, if they have memories attached and you care for them,” Verity said. “I’ll return them to you soon, I promise, but I wanted to try to make a pattern from the hat and mittens. Perhaps try my own hand at kitting for someone little?” she said smiling at Caroline.

“No worries, keep the whole box as long as you like. I don’t even remember what other things were in there,” Demelza said. “One of these days, we’ll do a proper sorting at Nampara. For now we just keep moving the same junk from one room to the next. And I’m as bad as old Joshua, I can’t bring myself to really throw anything away. I tried just the other day, but only ended up tossing out my own cracked wellies and some old trainers.”

“I do think there was a man’s leather glove without a mate in the jumble,” Verity laughed. “Maybe it’s eager to be reunited with its partner?”  

“Oh no doubt it’s mate is long gone. You have permission to bin that,” Demelza said.

\---

It was growing late but the guests still lingered by the fire in the parlour. Andrew and Geoffrey Charles were now working as a team to keep Aunt Agatha occupied and based on her occasional laughs, they were either doing quite well or were merely the victims of her humorous barbs.

After Verity came back in to fill glasses one last time, she pulled out an old, yellow notecard and handed it to Demelza.

“Here’s the original, Demelza. It belongs back at Nampara. I’m sorry it was missing for so many years. I suppose my mother must have borrowed it from Uncle Joshua after Aunt Grace...But thanks for letting me photograph it. It is a fascinating document in itself,” Verity said.

“Well thanks to the Trenwith Poldarks keeping it safe these many years!” Demelza raised a glass in salute then snuggled closer to Ross on the sofa.

“What’s this?” Ross asked taking the card from Demelza, who had been lovingly inspecting it.

The recipe for the apple pudding had been written in an elegant and stylised script--somehow it read as confident. A few things had been crossed out and edits had been added later in pencil. ‘ _No raisins for Joshua!_ ’ and ‘ _one tsp of cinnamon_ ’ had been crossed out and made ‘ _2’_ . ‘ _For Ross_ ’ was written in the margin by the same hand, but maybe a bit more hurried than when the recipe was initially written down.  

“Good lord. I remember this,” Ross said, amazed. “I was making this very dish with my mother--she was letting me help--I must have been no more than four or so. And I accidentally put in too much cinnamon and became so upset by my mistake.”

“You don't like to make mistakes do you, Ross?” Verity teased.

“I believe I actually cried quite a bit. And then busy comforting me, my mother forgot to add the raisins. But at supper, my father declared it was the best ever because he didn't care for raisins and I said I liked the extra cinnamon.”

“Oh Ross! You cried? You poor thing,” Demelza said, rubbing his arm.

“You like that? The idea of me in tears?”

“No, Ross, it’s just so adorably heartwarming. How lovely of your mum not to scold you but instead to change the recipe permanently for you,” Demelza replied.

“And how lovely of you to have made this for me tonight,” he said.

“It can be our Christmas tradition if you like, Ross,” she said softly.

_Our tradition_.

The words brought extra comfort. He had almost forgotten the terror, the turmoil he had been experiencing the past few days thinking she was leaving him. And now the pudding, the kittens,  even her protective stance around Geoffrey Charles touched him with such loving warmth. He could bask in the relief that she was going nowhere. Ross exhaled a sigh of relief.

“My love, I’d like to get you home,” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, Ross?” she said and raised a coy brow. “Well I suppose the kittens will be missing us...”

“That‘s not what I had in mind…”

“I’ll start saying our goodbyes, you go get our coats.” Her eyes sparkled with eagerness.

\---

Ross and Demelza had bundled up to face the cold night and were heading for the car, when Verity came running out to catch them.

“Ross! Ross!" she cried.

“What is it?” he asked, worried by her excited tone.

Verity said nothing but slipped a small parcel into Ross’s coat pocket, then grinned a warm and loving grin.

“This...I believe it’s for both of you but don't open it until you are home. Merry Christmas, Ross,” she said, then hugged him tightly and hurried back to the house.


	13. Chapter 13

But of course when they returned to Nampara they did need to attend to the kittens before they could attend to each other. In the hallway they were met with Garrick’s worried barking, as he paced back and forth outside the library. Ross and Demelza came closer and heard the plaintive mews of their newest companions through the shut door.

“No, Garrick, be a good boy and stand guard out here. We won’t be but a minute.” Convinced the dog would be jealous, Demelza offered him some extra affection before she slipped into the library.

Ross turned on the gas fire while Demelza lifted both kittens from the box. They wriggled and cried, trying to climb up her shoulders and batting at her hair.

“Looks like you could use a hand,” Ross said, and carefully removed the ginger one from Demelza’s dress, where the big orange mitts had already gotten caught.

For some time, they sat on the old sheepskin before the fire, quietly watching the kittens frolic. The black one repeated nibbled at Demelza’s earring and almost got it loose before he was banished back to the box. She expected him to protest but after one small mew, he curled up in the nest of towels and blankets and went to sleep.

In that moment, Ross knew himself to be content. He tried not to dwell on it, not overthink it, but just let the happiness wash over him. He stretched out on his back, stroking the orange kitten who had fallen asleep on his chest. His eyes closed too and it seemed he might join her in a little snooze.

Suddenly Demelza roared with laughter.

“Oh Ross! I think she wee’d on you!”

“What? Where? Not on my beard?” He tried to sit up without upsetting the kitten, frantically running his hands over his face.  

Demelza plucked the kitten from him, who had now hooked her razor claws into his shirt, unwilling to be wrested from such a warm napping spot. Gingerly Demelza placed her back in the box next to her brother.

She was laughing so hard now but offered Ross a kiss as she rejoined him on the floor.

“No, just your shirt, silly,” she soothed and began to unbutton it for him.

He allowed her to remove the shirt and, sensing what might come next, managed to crack a smile.

“It comes with the territory I suppose,” he murmured.

“Oh, it could be far worse Ross.” Her hands danced through his chest hair while she nuzzled his face with her nose and inhaled deeply. Then she laughed again.

“What if it had been on my beard?” he teased, then vigorously rubbed his face against hers so the soft black hair tickled her cheek.

“Oh I might still love you,” she giggled. “I mean, you’ve smelled worse, you know.”

“What?” he asked with mock indignation. Then with a growl, he pretended to rub his armpits on her head.

“You are such a lovely idiot!” she laughed, pulling away. “They need names, you know--the cats I mean. I suppose we could name them after us. The dark one could be little Ross and the ginger one…”

“There is only one Demelza.”

“No two--don’t forget my mother was Demelza as well. But don’t worry, Ross, if we have a daughter someday I won’t insist on naming her Demelza,” she said.

He was going to tell her he thought it was a beautiful name but then he fully processed her sentence; his mouth hung open and the words rang in his ears.

 _If we have a daughter someday._   

He could bear it no more.

“I want to be married,” he blurted out suddenly. It was clumsy and inelegantly worded and the setting could not have been any less romantic. After he spoke, he thought his heart might leap out of his exposed, hairy chest.

“What?” she stammered.

“I want…” he started again.

“You want to marry... me? Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to say…”

“How to ask me to marry you? Am I that difficult to please?” she cried.

“No, no you’re not, my love!” he pleaded with her, looking into her worried eyes. “I just want you to know, I’m not _proposing_ , like it is something the man gets to decide, then the woman acquiesces…I doubt that’s something you’d approve of. I am introducing the idea and we can discuss whether we mutually agree to….”

“Oh Ross...you’re overthinking things!”

“Demelza, you have no idea...these last few weeks…”

“Weeks?”

“I’ve been in anguish…”

“For weeks?” she repeated. “So this has also been troubling you? Oh Ross!”

“I was so worried about what you’d say.”

“So? Do I get to _say_ something?”

“Demelza…” he was in anguish again now, waiting for her response.

“Yes, Ross. Of course I want to marry you. You seriously thought I’d say no?”

“I thought you might want your freedom, Demelza.”

“My freedom? You don’t see marriage as a cage, do you? Will things change that much between us if we make it legal?” she asked.

“No, of course not. I’d never put any demands on you ever…”

“But you’re sure _you_ want to get married…”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?” he asked, puzzled.

“I mean... you’ve been married before, Ross,” she said simply.

“But that was different,” he objected.

“How?” she asked.

“Well _you_ are different for a start…” he said impatiently.

“Well what about you, Ross? Are _you_ different?”

“Of course…”

“Because--I don't know how to tell you this--but if I marry someone, I intend to stay married. So if you feel otherwise, this is the time to tell me…”

“No! I intend to die with you!”

“I suppose that sounded more cheerful in your head.”

“Demelza! Wait... _‘If’_ you marry someone? I thought you just said yes?”

 _“When_...I meant _when_ of course, Ross. And by the way, when? When were you thinking we would get married?”

“The sooner the better. Tomorrow? Today? Yesterday?”

“Well today is out of the question since it is Christmas Day and getting rather late, and Boxing Day is no better. But I think we need a bit more time to arrange things, don’t you? Caroline would kill us if we denied her the chance to plan a wedding.”

“Yes, she would,” Ross agreed.

“You know she’s been talking to me about what sort of wedding gown would best suit me since you and I first got together. Of course I told her she was putting the cart before the horse, etc. etc. but I do believe she’s kept a file of possibilities,” Demelza said.

“So Caroline knew we’d marry before either of us did?” Ross laughed.

“She’s remarkably perceptive.”

“But just to be clear, you are in agreement that we should get mar…”

“Yes, Ross Poldark! I will marry you,” she said and kissed him.

“Demelza, do you remember the first time I brought you home and we laid together before this pathetic gas fire?” Ross asked suddenly.

“I love this pathetic gas fire. But oh Ross, I’ll never forget that day. And every subsequent day we’ve had together. Did you suspect then it would come to this?”

“That we’d be rolling about in kitten wee? No, I did not.”

“Ross! That’s not what I meant….”

“I would never have dared to dream it, Demelza. You were in my arms but seemed so out of reach then. But I did know you were special. Come, let me take you upstairs. That’s what I was so desperate to do then, and now I can, with no interruptions.”  

“To _our_ bedroom,” she smiled.

Ross switched off the fire while Demelza put a hand in the box to touch the sleeping kittens. She and Ross both knew she’d be up later to check on them but for now they were an intertwined pile of fluffy warmth. Their eyes were closed but they stuck out their tiny pink tongues and their claws reached out over and over as they dreamt their little kitten dreams.

Once they were upstairs, Demelza turned so Ross could unzip her dress. She hadn’t needed to say a word--it was a nighttime ritual of theirs.  

She had been so lovely tonight and he had been so proud of her for so many reasons. He kissed her neck slowly, aware of how smooth her skin looked in the moonlit room.

“Ross,” she whispered.  

“Yes, my love?”

“Ross...look at the moon.”

“What?” he said, a bit surprised that his tender kisses had gone unnoticed. But he had to acknowledge the extraordinary beams that came in through the misty windows and illuminated the whole room--and both of its loving inhabitants. It was a soft light yet seemed charged with special energy. “Yes, yes, it is full tonight,” he said, his voice raspy with desire.

“No, that was a few days ago. It's already waning. Still a rare treat for Christmas,” she sighed.

 _That accounts for my madness the last few days_ , he thought.

“I’m sorry, Ross. You said you didn't want any interruptions. I’ll pull the curtain,” she offered.

“No, leave it. You said it was bad manners to shut out whatever magic the night conjures up for us.”

“It sounds more poetic coming from you,” she laughed.

“Demelza,” he said impulsively. “Change your clothes. Let’s go out to look at it.”

“At the moon? Really, Ross?” Her voice was eager and he knew then he was giving her something she wanted. He cherished that feeling.

“Yes, let’s go down to the sea or at least to the cliffs.”

“Oh Ross!” She kicked off her shoes and immediately began to tug down her tights. Within seconds she had pulled on a pair of jeans and one of Ross’s heavy jumpers.

“You’ll need a new shirt, Ross. I’ll go get my coat and boots. And maybe fill a flask for us?”


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Ross joined her downstairs, Demelza was ready to go, dressed in wellies and a parka. He grabbed the coat he’d been wearing earlier and followed her, as she practically skipped out the door. Garrick happy to be invited, followed closely at their heels.

“Will you be warm enough in your dress coat, Ross?” she asked.

“I'll be fine and I’m not going back now.”

“You look like quite the gentleman, going out for a moonlit stroll.”

“With his _fiance,”_ he said and saw her smile in return. “Who looks as though she is ready to spend the night out of doors,” he observed, stroking the black beanie she had on her head.

“Is that a proposition because I’m up for anything,” she laughed and took his hand in hers.

The moon had traveled westward in its path across the night sky, and while it was not yet in what Demelza thought of as “the right spot” just above the sea, it still lit the cliff sides so they now looked more grey-green than black. The frosty grass underfoot and the swirling sea below sparkled in the chilly night.

They clasped hands and walked on together quietly until they came to a favoured view and stopped.

“Here, this for you,” she said and passed Ross the flask, watching his face as he took a swig.

“Demelza, what is...is this...?” He tried to place the new flavour.

“It’s the Japanese Harmony whisky you wanted. I meant it for your birthday but thought tonight warranted more celebrating.”

“It’s wonderful, and you’ve already given me so much tonight,” he said, savouring the honey sweet palate that finished oaky. “It’s light and dark just like us.”

“Oh Ross! You don’t fool me. I know you like the sweet too,” she said. “In fact, I’m surprised you are out here with me instead of back with your new ginger lover.”

“She is beguiling. But don’t you also have a handsome young suitor?”

“Indeed I do.” She took a drink, then rested her head gently on his shoulder. He put his lips to her forehead and looked out at the sea.

“It’s called a Cold Moon in December,” he said.

“That’s fitting,” Demelza shivered. “But I prefer to call it a Yule Moon.”

“Don't tell me you’re cold?”

“No, I’m shivering with excitement Ross. Still let me have some more of that whisky to warm me,” she said.

“Ah ah ah,” he teased and playfully held the flask out of her reach, before slipping it into his pocket.

She laughed and went after it, but pulled out something else instead.  

It was the small package wrapped in a blue and white paper as fine as tissue. It looked to be architectural sketch paper--she’d seen it around Verity’s studio before.

“What’s this, Ross?” she asked, forgetting the flask.

“I nearly forgot. Verity gave it to me, just as we were leaving. She said it was for both of us, so I imagine it’s a present.”

“For us? Even wrapped up, it’s lovely,” she said. She tried to read the blue writing or make out the images--buildings of some sort--on so small a parcel.

“Open it,” he said and pulled out the flask. He took a swig while she carefully undid the paper.

He almost choked on the whisky when he saw she was holding the small battered jewelry case in the palm of her hand.

“Ross?” she asked, as she carefully opened it. “Oh Ross! But it’s…”

He turned and tried to read her face but it was in shadow, so he reached for her, and she immediately buried her face into his shoulder. He felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she leaned into him. Was she crying?

Finally she looked up. Yes, her face was wet from tears but her mouth had crinkled into the brightest of smiles.

“It’s so...I think I can’t breathe,” she whispered.

“Please do, for my sake. You like it?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s just that lovely...Is this for me? I don’t understand. Verity said this was a gift for both of us?”

“Yes, it is yours. But watching you receive it, has been a gift to me. How it ended up with Verity though, is a mystery. I had hidden it in the dresser but then it went missing and I assumed the worst.”

“Maybe it got jumbled in the box of things I lent Verity for her blog?”

“The wooden cigar box? You gave _that_ box to Verity? Oh Demelza!” Now he roared with laughter.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing my love. Tell me, was there an odd glove in there?” he laughed.

“Yes...I think Verity had said there was a stowaway. Oh god, Ross! I had told her to throw it away! What if she had?”

“It’s best not to think of that,” he said. “She didn’t and that’s all that matters now.”

“Ross, is it an old Poldark heirloom?” she asked, still breathless.

“The glove?” he teased.

“No, the ring!”

“Yes, it was my mother’s. Here, put it on,” he said and impatiently tugged the mitten off her left hand. He slid the ring over her long finger, holding his breath that it would fit. 

“Oh Ross,” she whispered and held her hand up to admire the ring.

The pale blue stone and the small diamonds caught the moonlight and shone on her smooth skin. Of course it looked exquisite but Ross remembered what Pennington had said. It was being on her exquisite finger that made this ring extra lovely. He covered her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

She leaned against him as another small gasp escaped her.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

"Ross! I cannot lie! I’ve seen this ring before...in the dresser drawer with all the socks,” she declared fretfully. “Last year, when I first moved in and I...well, I thought maybe but never dared dream…”

“That it would be yours? Good god, you should have asked me--anything of mine is yours!” he cried. “Demelza, look at me. I would have given it to you on the spot. The day I first kissed you, I would have given you the moon.”

He tried not to sound angry. He wasn’t--just distressed that they could have had this moment so many months ago.

Or maybe not. Maybe tonight--on this moonlit cliff--had to be the exact time they truly became one. He felt his own eyes grow wet, then he held her tighter to him.

_One flesh. Let no man put asunder._

“Oh Ross, and now you have given me the moon,” she laughed and closed her eyes, snuggling close to him. Her nose was running but she was but careful not to wipe it--or the tears that wouldn’t stop--on his fine camel coat.

He kissed her forehead.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered into the moonlit Cornwall night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to continue the conversation.


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